To return to the Abbey. Everything had become suddenly animated there; for, at the departure of Dame Placid and Sister Romana, Reverend Mother Prioress had declared that we should all follow, taking advantage of the occasion, as there was a cessation of hostilities for the moment. In vain some of us begged to be allowed to remain behind; but we had all to make our last preparations and go. When, however, the packages turned up, each bigger than the other, we looked at one another in dismay. How should we ever drag such a load with us? Dame Columban and Dame Bernard offered to try to find a workman to help us, and their offer was finally accepted. What happened they record.
‘Mother Prioress gave us her blessing, and let us out of the enclosure door. Oh dear! What a sensation! Happy prisoners for so many years, we now found ourselves in the streets. With a shudder, we started on our errand. We had not gone a hundred paces, when, whizz ... bang! a shell passed over our heads; a moment after, whizz ... bang, another—then another—and another. Half-way down the street, a British officer on horseback cried out to us: “Mes Sœurs ... à la maison.” Where were we to go? We knew no one. We looked round to find a place of refuge; and, seeing a man standing on his doorstep, timidly asked if we might take shelter there. He willingly agreed, seeming only too delighted to bid us welcome. As soon as the officer had vanished, we asked our kind host if he could tell us where the workman (Chinchemaillie) we were seeking lived, and on being directed to his abode, we left the house. Once more in the street, we hurried on. While crossing the Grand’ Place, a perfect hail of shells and shrapnel came down on all sides. Explosion followed explosion. The soldiers and civilians crouched down by the side of the houses whenever a shell burst; but we, ignorant of the great risk we were running, walked bravely on. At length we concluded we must have taken a wrong turning; so, meeting a pale-faced gentleman, we asked him if he would be so kind as to put us on the right road again. He was hurrying along, burdened with parcels of all sizes, and carrying a jug of milk. When we spoke to him, he seemed almost dazed. “Yes, Sisters,” he answered “... certainly ... but ... the Germans have just shelled my house ... I am running to save my life.” We understood then why he looked so disturbed; offering our deepest sympathy, we begged him not to trouble. Recovering himself, he assured us that he was going our way, and would willingly accompany us. We took some of his parcels from him, and went along. At a turning in the street we parted, having received further directions from him and thanked him for his kindness. Another man, having overheard our conversation, came forward, and offered to conduct us to the house in question. We went on, passing several buildings which had been much injured, and finally, the bombardment raging all the time, arrived at our destination, only to hear that the workman had left the town in the morning, and had not been able to re-enter it. The people of the house showed us the greatest kindness, especially on hearing who we were, and insisted on our spending the night in their cellar, saying it was far too dangerous to go out again. We thanked them for their offer, but of course set off again for the Monastery. Just as we arrived at the Grand’ Place, Hélène, who had already rendered such valuable services to the community came running towards us. She was breathless and almost crying, having been searching for us everywhere; we had been out so long, and the bombardment had been so continuous, that the nuns thought we must have been killed. We soon got safely home, where we found everyone in a dreadful state of anxiety.’
On hearing the continual explosions, Mother Prioress and the community had knelt down by the enclosure door, to pray for the safe return of Dame Columban and Dame Bernard. As they delayed so long, Reverend Mother sent Edmund to ask Hélène to look for them. Having done so, Edmund returned and did his best to persuade the nuns that there was no need to leave the Abbey. ‘You have your cellars to shelter you, why do you want to go? What will become of me, when you are gone? If a bomb falls on the convent, well, it will be the will of God. Why not die here as well as anywhere else?’ We shall see later, that when the shell really did fall on the Abbey, the good man was anything but resigned to die. As he perceived that he gained nothing by his eloquence, he went out into the street, and soon returned with a soldier, to see if the new-comer might not be more successful. The soldier was at first rather bewildered at his new surroundings, being an English Protestant, but was soon set at ease on finding that we talked English. At this moment the two wanderers came back, and set everyone’s heart at ease. Of course there was no longer a question of our leaving that night, especially as the soldier assured us that there was no danger that the Germans would get into Ypres, adding that our cellars would be proof against all their bombs. Edmund, by this time, was triumphant, and pulling out his cigar-case, offered it to the ‘Tommy,’ who insisted on his accepting a cigarette in return. Edmund then began to relate the story of his woes. ‘What should I have to eat, if they were to go?’ he exclaimed. ‘Imagine, the other day the Sister brought me my dinner. What did I see? I could hardly believe my eyes! A piece of beef-steak. I sat down in high glee; for I do not remember when I had had a piece before. What was my disappointment to find what I had taken to be a beef-steak was nothing else than a piece of fried brown bread. I could have thrown it in the fire.’ The soldier then took his leave, though not before Mother Prioress had given him a badge of the Sacred Heart, which he promised to wear always as a souvenir of his visit to our Abbey. We took care, also, to give him as many apples and pears as he could put into his pockets.
The number of people seeking shelter for the night in the convent increased constantly. Already, some thirty persons had come; some bringing their own mattresses, the others depending on our charity. We gave all that we had. In the end, no fewer than fifty-seven persons came for a night’s lodging. Numberless poor came also during the day for food, for they could not find anything to eat in the town; bakers, butchers, grocers—all had fled to save their lives. We were in the greatest necessity ourselves, but still gave to all who asked. We experienced the truth of our Lord’s words, ‘Give, and you shall receive,’ when, a few days later, we were in the streets—without a house, without food, without money. It was then, indeed, that we received a hundredfold the charity we showed towards those who applied to us in their distress.
On the Wednesday morning, Our Lord gave us a little surprise. Our chaplain had been obliged to leave Ypres the evening before, to place the nuns who lived in his college in safety. But the Divine Master watched over us, and instead of the one Mass which we had lost, He sent us two French military priests to offer up the Holy Sacrifice for us. Reverend Mother presented her excuses for the poor breakfast they received—for we had nothing to give them but the bread which we had made ourselves out of meal, and some pears—asking their opinion of the situation. They strongly advised us to leave while there was yet time and enquired where we thought of going. Mother Prioress told them that the Lady Abbess of Oulton Abbey in England had offered, from the very outset of the War, to take the whole community, but the great question was how to get so far. They said that we ought to apply to the British Command for help, expressing the opinion that the English ambulance, established at the college of which our chaplain was the President, would surely come to our assistance. They then left, saying how delightful it had been to have found such a peaceful spot in which to say Mass, after the noise and horrors to which they had been so long accustomed.
The day passed slowly. The Germans were gaining ground. The noise of the Allied guns was now deafening. We were obliged to leave all the windows ajar, to prevent the glass being broken by the shocks, which made the house tremble from the garrets to the cellar. Monoplanes and biplanes, friendly and hostile, passed continually overhead—the former chasing the latter, which were dropping bombs without end on the town. At last, two friendly aeroplanes undertook to mount guard, and remained continually hovering round and round; but even then, the Taubes came; and the fighting went on in the air, as well as on all sides of us. The risks of remaining were certainly great; and yet—why leave our Abbey, when it was still untouched? We were sure of a warm welcome at Oulton; but how could the whole community get there, and, above all, our beloved Lady Abbess? On the other hand, how were we to live in Ypres? Not only were we in danger of being killed at any moment, but there was no longer any means of getting food. For several days Edmund had, with the greatest difficulty, procured two pints of skimmed milk; but even this would soon cease. Again, there was certainly no more prospect of receiving any money in Belgium, where the banks had all been robbed. We had paid our debts prior to the commencement of hostilities; and so had very little money left. In the afternoon, Mother Prioress determined to go out and seek for information at the British Headquarters; for everyone seemed to have deserted the stricken town. She took Dame Columban and Dame Patrick with her. They went first to the college. At the end of the Rue St. Jacques, a French soldier gave a military salute and advanced towards them. It was one of the priests who had said Mass for the community in the morning. He accompanied the three nuns as far as the college, but told them that the ambulance had left during the night, which was a very bad sign; for when the wounded were removed, it showed that there was great danger. He also promised to attend the next morning at 5 o’clock to say Mass. It was notified that the Headquarters were to be found a mile and a half out of Ypres. The burgomaster had also left the town. Going to the houses of several influential people—M. and Mme. le Sénateur Fracy de Venbeck and Mme. Van den Berghe and others—friends of the Monastery, Mother Prioress and her companions found them all locked up, and the inhabitants gone. One big shop was burning, and the French soldiers were trying to put the fire out. A baker’s establishment had a large hole in the roof. It was pouring rain, and the nuns had no umbrella; so they turned their steps homewards. But their mission was not to prove useless; for Divine Providence had arranged that they were to help one of His poor creatures. Having arrived at the Grand’ Place, they were stopped by an English officer, who pointed to a cart, driven by a soldier, which was following them. In it was an old woman lying, apparently helpless. He explained to them that, passing by a deserted village, which had been destroyed by the Germans, he had found her lying in a ditch. He had lifted her into the cart and taken her along with him, and he now asked if the nuns could not direct him to some hospital or institute where she would be taken care of. They went with him as far as the Hospice, where the officials declared they had more work than they could possibly attend to; still, as Mother Prioress begged so hard, they took her in. The poor old woman was over ninety. How many are there who, like her, find themselves turned out of the little home, which had perhaps cost them their whole life’s savings. Why should the poor, the aged, the infirm, the innocent, suffer to satisfy the ambition of the unjust? Truly, ‘My ways are not your ways, saith the Lord.’ In eternity, lost in the blissful contemplation of God’s infinite perfections, we shall understand the wisdom of those things which now surpass our poor intelligence.
On Thursday morning, we arose at 4.30 from what might truly be styled ‘our humble couch,’ to be ready for the promised Mass at 5 o’clock. During the night, we had harboured the Sisters of Providence, who were leaving next day. Having waited half an hour, and no priest coming, we recited lauds, prime, and tierce. We again waited in all patience, but no one appeared. We could not miss Holy Mass and Communion—it was the only source of consolation left to us; besides, we never knew if, perhaps, we should live to see the following day. The regiment to which the priests belonged had probably been ordered off during the night—hence the reason of their non-arrival. At 7.30 Mother Prioress assembled us all at the enclosure door, and, leaving Edmund in charge of the convent, we put down our veils, and two by two, started for the Carmelite Convent, situated a little way down the street. There we learned that the nuns had left the day before. We were determined not to miss Mass at any cost, so continued as far as the Church of St. James, where we arrived in the middle of one Mass, after which we received Holy Communion, and then had the happiness of assisting at another Mass—celebrated also by a French chaplain, though not one of those who had been at the Abbey the day before. On our way home, we were met by a priest of the parish, who had served Mass for a long time in our chapel, when he was a young boy, and, returning to Ypres years after, had always remained attached to the community. He was touched to see us thus obliged to break our beloved enclosure, and spoke words of courage and consolation to us.
The day passed in great anxiety, relieved by one little incident, which, in spite of all our perils and troubles, afforded us amusement. Dame Columban, busy cooking in the kitchen, found no dishes coming from the scullery, where Sister Winefride now presided at the washing up. She looked in, asking when the things would be clean, and found the Sister, bending over a tub of boiling water, looking very tired and hot, and received an answer, that all would soon be finished. Some time passed, but no dishes came. Being at a loss to know the cause of the delay, she went once more to the scullery to enquire, and found things in exactly the same state as before. On asking what was wrong, Sister Winefride exclaimed, in a piteous tone of voice: ‘Do you really think we are going this morning?’—‘Of course not! who said so?’ ‘I don’t know, but I thought perhaps we might; so, in order not to have too much to carry, I have put on two habits, two scapulars, two petticoats, and I do feel so hot! If I may just go to our cell and change, I think I’ll get on better!’ Having, as may easily be imagined, obtained the permission, she soon came joyfully back to her work.
We no longer believed the assurance the British soldiers gave us, that we were quite safe, and we now set to work to lighten our packages as much as possible, only taking what was strictly necessary; it being even decided that we should only take one breviary each, and leave the other three behind. There still remained a good deal to carry; for we were to take some provisions, not knowing if we should find refuge at Poperinghe, or if we should have to go straight to England. It was absolutely necessary to find some means of carrying our packages, were it but a wheelbarrow. Mother Prioress now found a reward for her charity, for the poor workman, whom she had so kindly received with his family in the cellar, hearing of our distress, found a hand-cart, and, what was more, promised to push it for us.
The next day, Friday, we went out again to Holy Mass in St. James’s, having had very few people in the cellar, for all those who could possibly leave the town had already done so. When we returned, Mother Prioress announced her decision to go to the Headquarters, and set off immediately, accompanied by Dame Patrick, without even taking her breakfast. The rest of the community went about their different occupations, until she should return. Nine o’clock struck, half-past nine, ten, half-past ten, still no Mother Prioress! To say we were anxious but feebly expresses our state of mind. The shells and bombs were flying in all directions; and the explosions—joined to the firing of the guns—resembled some huge machinery with its never-ceasing boom and crash. We prepared the dinner, which consisted of salt herrings and fried potatoes; but there was no account of the Mother Prioress as yet. Each ring at the door made us crowd round in joyful expectation, but each time a disconsolate ‘No’ was all the answer we received from the portress. We recited Sext and None, but no Mother Prioress as yet! We consulted together as to what should be done. Some thought Reverend Mother must have been kept—others that she had perhaps found a motor-car, and had seized the opportunity to go to Poperinghe to see Lady Abbess. The dinner was spoiling on the fire, yet no one cared to sit down to eat. The bell rang, but we scarcely had the heart to answer it—we had been disappointed so often. We felt sure we should only hear another ‘No.’ Suddenly a joyous ringing of the little hand-bell, which had served alike to announce the Divine Office, and to warn us of German Taubes passing overhead, brought everyone to their feet, and we soon crowded round our dear Prioress to beg her blessing, asking all together for an explanation of her long absence. For greater surety we shall cite her own notes:—
‘The Headquarters had left the town, we had therefore a long way to go. In town, there was ever the same movement of troops, but the aspect seemed still more mournful. The shells had begun their work of destruction on the Grand’ Place. A corner of the Halles had been struck. A house had received a bomb on the roof, which, penetrating the building, carried away half of the front, making its way through ceilings and floors, throwing the furniture to right and left, carrying chairs down into the very cellar. The people standing around were looking on aghast. We passed on, but soon a poor woman stopped us: “And you Sisters, from where do you come?”—“We are the Irish Dames of St. James’s Street.” “Oh yes! I know the convent well. Are you also leaving?”—“I am afraid we shall be obliged to do so!”—and we continued our walk. We had already turned off into another street, when we heard hurried steps behind us, and some one crying out: “Sisters, Sisters! Zusters, Zusters!” It was the good woman again, with her kind face, her big handkerchief round her head, and her blue Flemish apron. “Zuster! Don’t leave the town, come home with me, we are poor, but still you can have my house and all I have.”—“Good woman,” I said, taking her two hands, “thank you a thousand times, do not be anxious for us. Our Lord will take care of us.” I could have kissed the dear creature then and there. We could not stop. Soon a crowd blocked our passage. “A shell struck here last night” they explained to us—it was the Cercle Catholique—“and penetrated into the cellar where a poor man had taken refuge with his three children, thinking he would be more protected here than in his own home, and there is his house (just two buildings farther on) untouched. The man has his hand off, two children are killed, and the third, a girl, is dying!”
‘By this time we had made our way through the crowd. The fugitives were continually passing, leaving homes and all behind. At length we arrived at the residence of the staff officers. We explained our case to one of them, who received us very courteously, and who told us the best thing to do would be to address ourselves to General Sir Douglas Haig. An orderly informed him that Sir Douglas had left for Brielen. The officer advised us to go there. It was already 8.30, and we had still a good hour’s walk before us. The road resembled that to Poperinghe. One must have seen the continual passage of troops, motor-cars, horses, fugitives, in the narrow lanes, the roads inches thick with mud, to have a true idea of it. Here and there a house struck by a shell, or bespattered with mud almost to the roof, gave an indescribable air of sadness to the surroundings; while a bouquet of flowers, or an odd bibelot discarded in a shop-window, remained as a last souvenir of the joys and prosperity of our brave little Belgium. Brielen now came in sight. We stopped before the Calvary, erected at the entrance to the cemetery, and then paid a visit to the church. On coming out, we met the Curé of the village, who interested himself in our trials and sorrows. We then asked the way to the Headquarters, where we found it was impossible to see Sir Douglas. His aide-de-camp gave us some rather vague information, but kindly offered to get us seats in a motor-car that was leaving for Poperinghe. It did not start, however, till midday, and even then I could not go without telling the community at Ypres. We set out on our way back to Ypres. Just outside the village a poor woman, all in tears, stopped us, showing us a big cavity which a shell had just made in the ground by her farm. “I should have been killed,” she exclaimed, “except for the brave English soldiers, who, seeing the shell coming in my direction, had just the time to take me up and push me into the farm, but my cow is gone! Our little farm was all our fortune!” and she wiped away the tears with a corner of her apron. Poor dear! How many are there still more unfortunate than she! As we approached the town, the whistling shriek of the shells became more distinct; the Germans were bombarding Ypres as hard as they could. We found ourselves almost alone in the streets. Here and there a few soldiers remained in the doorways of the houses. A shell flew straight over us! What a protection of Divine Providence! A few steps off a building was struck, and we just escaped getting a shower of bricks and glass on top of us. “Come to the other side!” Dame Patrick called out. We crossed over, murmuring aspirations all the time. A little farther on another shell burst, and the house we had just passed fell a heap of shapeless ruins. We hastened our steps to get out of the street, which seemed to be the chief point of attack. We then breathed more freely, till—arrived at the Grand’ Place—we were welcomed by a regular shower of shells which flew in all directions. Happily we had almost reached our destination, though, had it not been for Dame Patrick, I should never have known my way, but should probably have passed by the Monastery. At the door we met two brave Britishers whom I told to come into the parlour, where they would be more out of danger. They did not feel afraid, and said they were sent to search for some bread; for they could not get any in the town. I gave them some of the provisions which we were to take with us, with a little pot of butter, and—what I knew they liked so much—as many pears as they could carry. They were delighted, and so were we. We then talked of the war, and the old story came back again, the hope so cherished by all, and yet also not realised: “Oh! it will soon be over. We’ll be home for Christmas!”’
Our poor dinner was now served, the last we were to take in the dear old home. The reading was made aloud as usual. The subject was ‘Holy Poverty’—truly appropriate for the times and surroundings. The last words which the reader pronounced before the signal was given, were: ‘The Lord has given, the Lord has taken away! May His Holy Name be blessed!’ Had we prepared the reading beforehand, it could not have been better chosen. Our dear Lord had truly given us our Abbey, and had made it withstand the course of years, with all the changes of government, wars, and revolutions, which had swept over Belgium, especially Flanders—and now He was taking it away. May His Holy Name be blessed!